Tryst
by Lucky Chan
Summary: Seto Kaiba has finally settled down and married...and yet his young wife fears that she may not be as faithful to him as it seems, because some nights she dreams of another...a man she knew she once loved, and still loves. Seto x Kisara fic.


**Tryst**

_**Author's Notes: **__Written for the 31 Days community, for the June 5__th__ theme, "A single soul dwelling in two bodies". Spoilers for the Ancient Egypt/Memories Arc. Fic also inspired by Tin Mandigma's Naruto fic, "Vision is Exorcism" (Part I: Hinata). I've always found the possibility of this pairing interesting._

When she finally agreed to marry, she thought that the dreams would finally leave her alone, but still they came, not every night as they used to before her engagement, but too often for her own good. She felt like an adulterer, and these dreams were secret trysts with another lover; not that her betrothed would ever be jealous of a phantom—he would never _show_ it, or any semblance of even caring about it, at least.

But this phantom from her dreams: she knew him very well, and she probably even loved him, which troubled her greatly. He always came to her during the warm evenings of the summer, and in these dreams she was always standing in the middle of a desert; a desert which was unknown to her, and yet somehow felt like home, once upon a time.

The brightness of the sun in her dreams always blinded her, so she never saw his face. His hands, however, sun-browned and much calloused, were very clear to her, even when she woke. He always held her in these dreams, whispering words to her in a foreign tongue, gently, softly—sadly. As if he feared to lose her, or himself, she could never tell.

Her betrothed was nothing like her phantom lover: Seto Kaiba was more than occasionally cold and unfeeling, and at his best was only grudgingly affectionate, but still she loved him. He was _real_.

On their first night together, in the room where they now shared, she tried desperately to blink away sleep, for it was another warm evening. Instead, she gazed at his sleeping form, memorizing every line on his forehead, tracing the outline of his lips with her finger. A small smile came to his lips then, and eyes still closed, held her hand and put it down on the bed.

"Go to sleep," he commanded softly, but without the usual roughness he had in the daylight.

"I can't," she said, and kissed him lightly. He returned the kiss, then said as he turned away, "I have work to do tomorrow. So do you."

She considered if she should tell her of her fears, but with the second that she wasted thinking about the matter, he had already gone back to sleep. She sighed to herself, and closed her eyes.

_He_ was there almost as soon as she closed them. The first thing she realized upon going back to her dream was that he was no longer holding her, for now he stood a little away from her, his back turned to her.

"Kisara," he whispered: it was a word he often repeated whenever he spoke to her. Perhaps it was a name he chose to call her? She shook her head, and walked towards him.

"I cannot see you anymore," she said, looking down at the shifting sands of the desert. "I know you are nothing more than a ghost, an illusion, but still, I cannot do this anymore."

She still refused to look at him, but she felt him take her hand, and pull her closer to him. He spoke in that same foreign tongue, but strangely, she could understand him now: _We will never lose each other, _he said, _we will meet again._

_But how? _To her surprise, she found herself speaking in the same foreign tongue. Her hands shook as she spoke, but he gripped her hand tighter. She suddenly found that the sun did not blind her as much anymore, and she looked up.

He met his eyes, which were an icy blue, and they looked upon her now with sadness, but also hardened with a stubborn hope. He said nothing more, and turned away.

She followed his gaze, and realized that they had been standing before a huge stone tablet, which had shaded them from the glare of the desert sun. Etched on the tablet was a dragon, terrifying in its familiarity to her. She reached out to touch it, and he held out his hand as well, until their fingers touched.

_Do you understand now? _he said. _Do you remember?_

She remembered nothing, but she felt something stir inside her at his words, and faint images suddenly came to her mind: a cold prison cell, a white dragon with blue eyes, a blinding flash of light, a whispered promise to protect the one she loved. She smiled, suddenly, and she understood; but what she understood then, she did not know.

_You said it yourself before, _he said, with a small, ironic smile on his face, _we will meet again. And we already have._

She kissed him, then, and he touched her face gently. His hand moved to her eyes, and he closed them: when she opened them again, she was back in their room, and she looked up into the cold, sleepy blue eyes of her betrothed. She stared at him, shocked into recognition—how could she not have known that they were one and the same?—and she got up suddenly, rushing to the other end of the room.

There, amidst the stacks of books that he owned, lay a leather case filled with the cards he so valued. He crossed over to her, looking annoyed and puzzled, but she continued to rummage it until she found the card she was looking for.

"Blue Eyes White Dragon," she said triumphantly. "That was the dragon etched on the stone tablet. I remember now." She smiled, softly, and stared at the floor: she could not dare to meet his eyes. "I was called Kisara," she continued, "A lifetime ago."

Seto stared at her for—a second? an hour? an eternity?—before taking the card gently from her hand.

"These are just dreams," he said firmly, but something in his eyes softened as he said this, and he took her hand, and led her back to their bed. He put the card back in its case, and began to dress, speaking again only to remind her that they were going to be late for work.

They never spoke again of the matter that morning, but something in his manner changed: it was only a subtle change, only a little added warmth and a more liberal display of affection, but nothing earth-shaking, or anything noticeable by anyone else. Time and again he found him staring at her with his a particular card in his hand, but he would look away, as if he did not care at all, even though she felt—she _knew_—he did, as he always had.


End file.
